


Fifth Period Massacre

by skeleton



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton/pseuds/skeleton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is the kid that everyone is out to get. He feels ridiculed and abandoned, and ignored. He sees no way out of his shitty life but to get revenge on those who caused it, so he comes up with a plan for massacre during fifth period; gym class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're so empty inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> READER DISCRETION IS EXTREMELY ADVISED. IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY BLOOD, DEATH MENTION, AND OTHER THINGS OF THIS NATURE, PLEASE DO NOT READ.

"Fuck you," Frank spat at his attacker, his words lathered with nothing but venom. He struggled against the older boy's grip on him as he was held up against the set of lockers in the school corridor, his feet barely touching the ground beneath him. "You mother fucker!"

"What are you gonna do about it?" Jenkins laughed as Frank struggled, his words harsh and loathing as he pushed Frank's head backwards, his skull painfully colliding with the metal behind him. Frank winced, a string of cuss words echoing throughout the empty corridor. "I said: what the fuck are you gonna do about it?" Jenkins growled.

"Fuck, go away! Leave me alone, you jerk!" Frank all but begged, yelling as his legs swung under himself.

"I'm not going away that easily," Jenkins smirked, his fist balling behind his head. Before he could swing, footsteps sounded from around the corner. Both Frank and Jenkins' heads snapped towards the source of the noise, watching as Mrs. Clare appeared. Jenkins hastily released his grip on Frank's shirt, allowing Frank to finally catch his breath and slide down to the floor, his legs pulled up to his chest as he spluttered.

Jenkins held his breath as Mrs. Clare approached them, her arms folded firmly across her chest. "Care to explain what I just interrupted?" She questioned, raising her far-too-perfect-to-not-be-tattooed-on eyebrows.

Jenkins struggled to come up with a good enough excuse, and after a few seconds of silence, he finally managed to get out the words, "we were just having some fun, Mrs. Clare."

The teacher took a few seconds to glare at Jenkins as he looked down towards his scuffed shoes, waiting for a better excuse. "Is that right, Frances?" She turned to face Frank, hoping to get a better explanation from the smaller boy.

Frank rolled his eyes, his patience running out. He didn't understand why the staff at that school always seemed to turn a blind eye on things like this. And why they felt the need to call him 'Frances'. He'd once even been addressed as 'Franklin.'

"My name is Frank," is all he said, annoyance clear in his voice. "Honestly, do you really think that what you saw was _fun_ for me?" He stood then, brushing his hands over his shirt to attempt to get rid of the creases.

Without a second look, Frank started to walk away. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew one thing; he sure as hell wasn't staying in that Hell any longer. As he headed out of the school doors and towards the gate, he could hear his name being called by Mrs. Clare, who had got the principle to assist her.

Frank managed to walk about a block when he realized how much shit he was going to be in for that. "Fuck," he groaned. "Yeah, like she would have listened to me anyway."

Frank began to feel a familiar ball of anger building up and knotting itself in his stomach. He ran a hand through his hair roughly. "Nobody fucking listens." Picking up pebbles and throwing them, he was talking to nobody in particular. "Fuck you all," he muttered, dropping the stones in his hands and kicking a lamppost. He let out a deep breath before picking up the pace and heading towards the place he could barely call home.

"I'm back!" Frank yelled as he closed the front door of his house. Not bothering to wait for a reply, he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. The first thing he did was sit down at his coffee-stained desk cluttered with cigarette butts and ashes, and pull out an old sketchbook from his drawers. After a few minutes of searching for a working pen, Frank began to write.

He wasn't entirely sure what he was writing, but he knew that it helped to clear his head without having to take it out on himself or anyone else. He was already so fucked up. The last time he had resorted to self-mutilation, his mother had seen the aftermath and threatened to send him to therapy. No way in Hell was Frank going to risk going there.

He stared down at the once blank page underneath him and scanned quickly over the words he had written. His lips seemed to twitch upwards into a sort of distorted smile, his grip tightening on the pen he was holding.

_I've tried so hard to keep it together. My blood runs cold, I clench my fists. You know I'm dead. I'll seize the day by the throat and watch it die. The last thing you'll see will be my face. Remember this face._

Frank closed the book, a sort of satisfaction running over him. Unaware of how much time had passed, Frank had some sort of idea when his stomach began to groan at him. He remembered to put his notebook back into the drawer; if anybody read what was in there, he was sure a trip to the town's Asylum would be on the agenda.

After slipping off his shirt and jeans, he began to search through the endless piles of clothes on the floor. He pulled out a pair of black sweats and a jumper and put them on, then proceeded unwillingly out of his bedroom and back down the stairs. Unsure of entering the kitchen without listening out for any yelling or things being thrown, Frank hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. There were no loud noises.

Realizing that there was nobody in the kitchen, he began to raid the cupboards, only to see that they were all empty. Frank laughed, it was fucking typical. In his annoyance, he sat down in one of the chairs, when something on the kitchen table caught his eye. Examining the small, rectangular piece of paper, he saw that it was a note.

_Frank, your father and I have gone on vacation._

"Yeah, a vacation from _me_ ," Frank snickered, rolling his eyes,

_We'll be gone for a few weeks, but I've left you some money for necessities in the cabinet above the stove. I'm sure it'll be more than enough to last until we get back. And please, try not to get arrested while we're gone. We won't be able to bail you out. – Mom._

Something was irritating Frank about this. The fact that they hadn't been able to afford a single holiday for seven years, let alone go abroad, was the main reason for his annoyance. Frank fumbled with the piece of paper in his hand, turning it over to examine the back before he laughed bitterly. It was a receipt from a lottery ticket. Not only that, but it was the _winning_ lottery ticket. He read through the information and almost choked on his own spit when he saw that the big cash prize was three-hundred and eighty-three _million_ dollars.

After sitting there for a few minutes, he managed to stand, his head still dizzy from his discovery. Hesitantly, Frank made his way over to the cupboard, opening it a bit too quickly and almost pulling the door off its hinges. The first thing he laid eyes on was the brown envelope on the bottom shelf.

"Oh, I wonder how generous they were," Frank snorted, picking it up and ripping it open. He almost wished he didn't look as he eagerly pulled out the contents and laid it out on the counter, his eyes scanning over it before his head became light once again. "Five hundred dollars," Frank stated. "Well, fuck me sideways."

As he examined the money, unsure of what to do at that moment in time, it became clear when he felt a small pain in his stomach, reminding him of the whole reason he ventured into the kitchen in the first place; food. Noting that the clock on the microwave said it was almost six, he decided to order pizza. Besides, they delivered after five-thirty, so he wouldn't need to leave the house at all.

Frank snorted when he heard the voice on the end of the line, reciting the company's name. _Hello, this is Pizza Pan. What can I do for you?_

"Hey, Pizza Pan, is Captain Cook there?" He mocked, the opportunity too big to miss. He heard the guy on the phone let out a frustrated sigh, and Frank decided to just order his food before he risked it being spat in. "Yeah, uh. Can I get a large veggie pizza and a soda delivered to 18 St. Peter Lane?"

After placing his order, Frank decided he wanted to watch a film, so he made his way upstairs to raid his shelves before his food was delivered. After debating between _Night of the Living Dead_ and _Pet_ _Semetary_ _,_ he chose the latter and headed back in the direction of the stairs, only to stop as he passed the doorway of his parent's bedroom. Their wardrobe was open, but Frank figured that was because of their last minute packing. However, something hanging out of the wardrobe intrigued him.

He didn't know why he was being as cautious as he was when he kicked the door open further with his foot; his parents weren't even in the same country. Frank's attention was fixated on a black leather bag that had been left behind. He found himself drawn to it.

He walked over slowly, crouching down beside the bag. His knees began to wobble with unsteadiness and he had to catch his balance on the side of his parent's bed, only to quickly regain it as he remembered that was the bed that he was accidentally conceived in sixteen years ago. Shuddering slightly, Frank reached out towards the zip of the bag, the quietness in the house far too eerie and making the situation seem almost horror-film worthy when a banging on the front door echoed throughout the house, startling Frank.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, throwing a hand onto his chest in panic.

Frank opened the front door a little too enthusiastically, causing the pizza delivery guy to jump and almost drop the pizza he was holding. "That'll be, uh, ten dollars," he blinked at Frank, holding out the box towards him.

"Sure, hold on, I'll go grab some money." Frank turned to run to the kitchen, but hesitated when he took note of the goose bumps forming on his arms from the cold. "Man, do you wanna come inside while I pay? It looks shitty out there."

The pizza guy nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Frank hung around until he was in the light of the hallway. "You can take a seat in the living room if you'd like. It's just through there," he offered, before heading into the kitchen.

When Frank returned, he held out a twenty dollar bill in front of the pizza guy who was sat on the edge of the sofa, examining the DVD Frank had previously thrown into the living room before he'd answered the door.

"Nice movie choices," the guy grinned, his eyes glancing up to Frank and then fixing on the money as he took it from Frank's hand.

It was then that Frank realized how young the guy actually was. In fact, he couldn't have been any older than Frank himself. His hair was dark, and it hung just above his shoulders, his fringe pushed back. It formed nicely around his pixie-like face, and his pointed nose matched the pixie theme, too. His lips were pale pink and his eyes were dark, like his hair.

"How old are you?" Frank found himself asking; unaware that it was a weird question to be asking his totally hot pixie-like pizza delivery guy.

"Excuse me?" He grinned, his eyes narrowing at Frank who seemed to stutter over his next words.

"I mean, you look like you're still in high school or something," he all too casually shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm a senior," pixie-guy nodded. "What about you?"

"Junior," Frank replied, glancing awkwardly around the room as silence fell upon them. "I'm Frank," he added, holding out his hand.

"Gerard," pixie-guy smiled, taking his hand. "And I owe you change," he said as he remembered the twenty dollar bill he was holding in his other hand. He opened the delivery bag and pulled out a ten, handing it to Frank and standing.

"Thanks," Frank smiled as he shoved it into his pocket and picked up the pizza box to inhale the cheesy-vegetable goodness.

Gerard chuckled, heading towards the front door. "I'll show myself out," he called over his shoulder. "Bye, Frank."

"Huh? Yeah, bye," Frank replied as he took a large bite out of a slice of his pizza.

Once it was devoured and Frank's hunger was taken care of, he slumped back into the sofa, pulling a blanket over himself to watch the last half hour of the film. He fell asleep just before the credits, his consciousness twisting into dream world.

_Frank found himself back at school; in Algebra class, to be specific. Everything was silent, and he wasn't sure if it was a good silence or not. Was he alone? Where was everybody? Confused and curious, Frank stood from his seat, only to trip when he tried to take a step. He looked down, confused to see that the thing he'd tripped on was Jenkins._

_His clothes were blood-soaked and torn, and Frank was suddenly aware that he'd just tripped over the dead body of the person who had fucked with Frank for as long as he could remember. Frank loathed Jenkins. As he glanced around the room, he realized that they were the only people there. What had happened here?_

_The silence was interrupted by the sound of a gun being fired, startling Frank. His head snapped towards the doorway of the classroom as somebody walked past, and Frank called out after them. "Hey, wait up!" He ran out of the classroom, following the direction that the person had gone in._

_"Hey, Frank," the person smirked, his hand wrapped around a gun as he stood in the middle of the hallway. Frank spun around on his heel, coming face to face with a very murderous looking Gerard. He reached forward, taking Frank's hand and placing the gun firmly in it. Then he was gone, leaving Frank with the weapon._

When Frank woke the next day, he was planning on skipping school. The last thing he wanted to do was face the wrath of Mrs. Clare; yet, he reluctantly pulled the blanket from over him and moved to sit on the edge of the sofa. Shivering, he made his way to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Before stepping in, he stretched, wincing as his back clicked painfully. He felt as though all of his joints had been dislocated and were popping back into place every time he moved. The warm water hit Frank's body and instantly relieved the pain and relaxed his joints.

Once dressed in his usual jumper and jeans, Frank grabbed his notebook from the drawer and shoved it into his bag, along with his phone and headphones. "Shit," he muttered when he glanced at the clock, taking note of the time. With less than ten minutes until lessons would be starting, Frank ran downstairs and out the front door, barely remembering to lock it behind him.


	2. That's what I said, baby.

When Frank arrived almost ten minutes late to his first class, he was almost positive that the whole day was going to drag. Not only was he in shit with Mrs. Clare for walking out and Mr. Paul for being late to class, he had also forgotten his math homework, too. Well, forgotten in the sense that he just couldn't be fucked to do it.

"Franklin Iero, this is the fourth piece of homework you haven't handed in to me. Do I need to give your parents a call?"

Frank snickered. "Go right ahead," he challenged the teacher, his focus on the piece of paper he was mindlessly doodling on.

"Excuse me?" Mr Paul snapped, causing Frank to jump slightly, unaware of how close the teacher actually was to Frank's desk. He looked up, watching as Mr. Paul hovered over him, his temper wearing thin.

Frank scoffed, muttering the words, "I said: go right ahead." He didn't seem at all phased by the anger his math teacher was showing towards him.

"This is your final warning, Franklin," Mr Paul started to warn, but Frank rose from his seat, shoving his things into his bag and sighing in frustration. Mr. Paul froze, his impatient finger tapping coming to a halt as he watched Frank walk around him and out the classroom door, flipping him the finger over his shoulder.

"My name is Frank," he called out, before disappearing around the corner.

Again, Frank knew how much shit he was getting himself into by skipping classes, but then again, he figured there wasn't much else he could do wrong to make things worse, so he made his way to the boys' locker rooms. He managed to dodge teachers lurking in the corridors on the way, and was delighted when he found that the locker rooms were empty, meaning there was nobody that could get him found out.

He dumped his bag on a bench and sat lazily next to it, pulling out his phone and putting his headphones in. Turning it on shuffle, he closed his eyes and put his head back, tapping his fingers on his knees to the drums. Unfortunately, what seemed like two minutes turned out to be two hours, and Frank was rudely jerked awake by his headphones being tugged rather painfully out of his ears.

"Hey! What the fuck, man?" Frank yelled, agitated, before his words came to a halt and his eyes grew wide at the man before him.

Professor Schmidt stared down at him, his arms folded and expression neutral. "Would you like to repeat that sentence again, Iero?"

"Professor Schmidt!" Frank finally realized, standing at once and shoving his phone into his bag in the process. "I'm sorry, Sir-," he began, but the Professor held up a finger, silencing the stuttering boy.

"How long have you been in here?" The Professor asked, clearly used to this sort of behaviour from Frank. The truth was, Professor Schmidt was the one member of staff in that school that cared for Frank's well-being. Only, Frank was scared shitless of the man.

"Uh, I guess...I'm not sure," he admitted, scratching his head and glancing up at the Professor as he waited. "What time is it, sir?"

"It's lunch, boy," Professor Schmidt sighed. "I was alerted that you left first period and didn't go to second or third, so I came looking for you." The Professor tapped his foot, lifting his arm to check his watch while Frank remained silent. "Well, you have about ten minutes left of lunch. Go grab something, and I don't want to hear about you not turning up to fourth period. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Frank nodded, grabbing his bag from the bench and running out of the locker room. In his hurry, he didn't see the boy standing outside of the door, and sprinted into him. "Sorry," Frank muttered as he made his way down the corridor that lead out into the cafeteria, attempting and failing to avoid everybody that looked at him.

"Hey! Iero, come back here!" Frank heard the familiar voice of his enemy and wanted to fold inwards on himself. Couldn't he catch a break for once?

Muttering, "What do you want now?" in Jenkins' general direction, he made his way to his locker to give himself something more interesting to concentrate on.

"You know what I want," Jenkins spat, gripping Frank's shirt from behind. Frank, with his head in his locker, rolled his eyes. Right before he could reply, though, some sort of light bulb went of in his head. The satisfaction of the reaction he would get outweighed the consequences of what he was about to do, as Frank thought of the worst that could happen.

Frank began to smirk to himself, turning to face Jenkins and looking up at him through his eyelashes. "Honestly, Jenkins. Do you really think this is the right place for that?"

Frank struggled to maintain his flirtatious expression as the older boy scoffed, mild disgust and major embarrassment flooding his features. He pushed Frank's back harder against the metal lockers. "You know what I mean, Iero. I don't want you like _that._ " Jenkins hurriedly tried to correct his wording, but was unaware of how easy he was making this for Frank.

"Well, how _do_ you want me?" Frank winked, pretending he didn't realize the growing audience they were attracting behind them.

"You're such a queer," he spat, pushing Frank backwards once again into the set of lockers and causing him to groan out in pain.

"Fuck!" Frank cried, still smirking. "How did you know I like it rough?" Jenkins' face twisted into a horrified expression as he balled his fist and began to raise it, but stopped when Frank asked him where he was going to put it.

"I know where I'm gonna fucking put you!" Jenkins snarled, his fist curling around the collar of Frank's shirt as he pushed him into the open locker, Frank's back colliding once again with the metal. "Have fun," he laughed, about to swing the locker door shut, but was stopped when another hand grabbed it, pulling it open. Jenkins, confused and enraged, punched the locker before turning and glaring at the witnesses of his defeat. "Get the fuck out of here!" He yelled at the audience, and all but one quickly obeyed and scuttled away as Jenkins and his disciples rounded the corner and disappeared.

Before Frank knew what had happened, a head popped around the locker door, a smirk on the person's lips as he let out a familiar chuckle. "Nice performance, Frank," Gerard laughed, holding out a hand to help the smaller boy out of his locker.

"Thanks," he muttered. "I'm glad I amused you."

"Oh, you did more than amuse me," Gerard smirked, but before Frank had the chance to ask him what exactly he meant by that, another question popped into his head.

"Since when do you go to Belleville High?"

Gerard laughed, shaking his head. "Well, it is just about the only decent school in Belleville itself," he stated, and Frank nodded his head in agreement. A few seconds of silence passed until Gerard seemed to have a realization. "I owe you a drink," he reminded himself, much to Frank's confusion.

"Care to elaborate?" He laughed, his head tilting to one side.

Gerard smirked, running a hand through his hair. "You paid for your pizza and a drink last night, but I only delivered your pizza."

"Shit, yeah. No wonder I was so thirsty," Frank laughed. "That pizza was dry as fuck."

"Seriously, meet me at the gates at the end of the day and I'll take you out for coffee." It didn't seem like a question, but Frank felt the need to hesitate before he answered what could only sound like a date invitation. "Come on, man. I promise I won't try anything," he winked, and Frank seemed to nod, giving Gerard the advantage as he yelled the word, "great!" and turned to walk down the corridor, disappearing round the corner and leaving Frank dazed and confused, and once again, late to class.

With only two periods left, Frank forced himself to endure the torture, his 'date' with Pixie-boy the main factor in his efforts to stay out of trouble. Of course, this was Frank, and if he didn't find trouble, the trouble found him.

Jenkins' grudge had grown, and he showed that when he tripped Frank as he stumbled into Biology ten minutes late, causing him to fall and hit his head on the desk. When he attempted to go to first aid, the substitute teacher, claiming that he "didn't see anything," refused, and sent him to his chair at the back of the class.

In his attempt to actually take notes and contribute to the lesson, his attention was drawn to a conversation going on between a few kids on the desk in front of him. Much to Frank's embarrassment, he found that they were talking about him.

_"Didn't you hear? His parents won a shit ton of money!"_

_"Nah, I heard they stole it. Now they're on holiday and they left him behind."_

_"Yeah, but he fucked the pizza guy. Gerard, is it?"_

Attention was brought to the front of the class when the substitute called the kids out on their chatting, telling them to concentrate, and Frank found himself pulling out his notebook and writing again.

_I can't pretend that I can stomach your face. I can't believe the shit that comes out. I'll never forget, never relent, and never recant. My face is far too gone. I've been walking forever, caring about what you think._

The rest of that lesson passed by in a blur of anger and self-loathing for Frank, and the end couldn't have came sooner as Frank packed up his shit and ran out of the classroom, relieved that he had a free period.

Considering Frank's knowledge of everybody he ever knew, pieced together with his eavesdropping, he pretty much knew where people would be at certain times, so he knew where to go to avoid said people. The Library was a place where nobody went, so of course that was his hideout.

As he entered the abandoned room, the lady at the front desk, Mrs. Foster, greeted him with her ageing eyes. "Hello, Dear. How's your day been?"

"Don't wanna talk about it," Frank huffed, passing her as he took a seat in his usual bean bag and began scanning the shelves for anything at least half decent to occupy him for the next hour before the final bell rang.

A few minutes passed, and Mrs. Foster appeared in front of Frank, a box in her hands. She held it out to him, smiling, and Frank tilted his head, unsure of what was in there. "Take it. I ordered them in for you." She pushed the box into Frank's lap and then disappeared again to her desk.

Confused, Frank cautiously opened the cardboard box, his jaw dropping a few inches when his eyes took in the mass of comic books and graphic novels in front of him. "Holy shit," he whispered.

Before he knew it, the hour had passed, and Frank placed the contents of the box back into it before making his way to the front desk and handing it to Mrs. Foster. "Thank you," he smiled as she took it, placing it under her desk. She nodded, tapping the side of her nose with her finger and then winking.

Miraculously, Frank managed to dodge Jenkins and his disciples as he made his way out of the school doors and stopped at the gates, slouching backwards to lean on them as he waited for Gerard to appear. Ten minutes passed, and Frank started to get a little impatient. He tapped his foot in annoyance, sighing and watching as he saw his breath.

Twenty minutes had passed before Frank realized that Gerard wasn't going to show. He folded his arms over his chest when a sharp breeze nipped at them, muttering, "bitchtits," to himself as he grumpily turned and went in the direction of home.

When he got to his front door, he began fumbling with his pockets for the front door key, his heart stopping when he couldn't find it and the thought, _Jenkins has it. He's going to kill me in my sleep,_ entered Frank's mind. It was dismissed as soon as he felt the cold metal on his fingers in his jumper pocket, though, so he shoved it in the door and quickly made his way inside and out of the cold.

Once in the mild comfort of his bedroom, Frank didn't hesitate to once again pull out his notebook from his bag and begin spilling his thoughts on the page.

_I want to lay low, but you want a funeral. You are the lie, but I am the liar. I am a liar. You can all go fuck yourselves. All this poison that drips from my brain has given me false hope and it's such a shame. I wanna die. I hate myself. I'm done, this is my last call. Oh, God, just take me away._

He yawned, glancing at the clock and seeing it was only four thirty. _Fuck it_ , he thought. Maybe sleep was what he needed right then. To Frank, sleep was as good as death; however he was willing to give the commitment. His bed welcomed him as it wrapped him in its warmth, and he accepted it.

_Frank found himself stood outside the school gates again. He didn't know who or what he was waiting for this time, but he still felt the same annoyance as he had earlier that day._

_After a few minutes, he heard a scream. It didn't startle him, but it made him grin as he followed the noise to its source, rounding a corner and coming to a halt. Once again, he came face to face with Pixie-boy. Gerard was smirking at him as he held a meat cleaver. Where the Hell did he get a meat cleaver from?_ _Completely missing the girl Gerard was stood over, Frank was confused as to where all the blood had came from. When he glanced down, however, he realized. The girl was lifeless, eyes wide but drained of all emotion. Her mouth hung open, blood trailing down her chin and to her throat, where Frank saw it had been cut._

_"You look pleased," were the words that made Frank smile as he felt Gerard's breath by his ear, taken aback by how fast he had moved to Frank's side._

_"She was a cunt," Frank shrugged, smirking when he felt Gerard reach out for his hand and place the cleaver in his grip._

_"Well then, she deserved it."_


	3. Just walk away before I drop you.

Frank woke with a start. His breathing was uneven and heavy, and the sweat coating his body made it uncomfortable to move. With as much effort as he could gather, he managed to sit up to check the time. When he saw that it was seven AM, he sighed, struggling to comprehend that he had indeed _another_ day ahead of him, and that really didn't appeal to Frank at all. He knew that he was going to have to get out of bed eventually, but right then, he didn't even want to leave the house.

Never the less, Frank went through the same daily routine as he always did; getting washed, dressed, and packing his bag with his notebook and phone, then reluctantly exiting his home and suffering another day in Hell.

Much to Frank's surprise, he found that when he was ready, he still had another fifteen minutes to spare before he would be forced to leave the house, which meant he had time to at least eat something to keep him going.

Aside from the only food in the house being stale bread, Frank decided it was better than nothing when his stomach refused to let him ignore his hunger, and he made a mental note that he should go grocery shopping soon. His eating habits were becoming unscheduled and non-existent.

After about five minutes of fumbling with the buttons on the toaster and turning the switch on the wall on and off a few times, he discovered that it didn't work, and resorted to making his toast under the grill which took twice as long. He quickly buttered the burnt brick that could barely be called food and shoved a slice in his mouth, holding the second slice in his other hand as he turned the grill off and ran out the house, adamant to stay out of trouble until at least lunch.

Of course, why would anything ever go the way Frank wanted it to? "Fuck," he groaned, mentally kicking himself for thinking that being on time for school was a safe thing to do.

Without hesitation, he spun around on his heel, walking as far away from Jenkins and his disciples as he could and deciding on hiding out the back of the school for a while. Too busy concentrating on not getting his ass kicked, Frank was confused when he rounded the corner, his eyes landing on somebody sat upright against the wall, his head tilted back and his hand cupping his nose.

 _Should I see if he's okay?_ Frank asked himself, hesitating whether or not he should carry on walking. It wasn't until the boy opened his eyes, his hand dropping and revealing a mass of blood coming from his nose that Frank realized it was Gerard.

Before he had the chance to say anything, Gerard stood, grabbing his bag and wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he left Frank staring awkwardly at his shoes. Fighting back the overwhelming urge he had to go after Gerard and see if he was okay, the only thought that made him feel slightly less guilty was the fact that Gerard had obviously found a reason to blow him off yesterday. Frank was pissed that he didn't get his coffee, either.

The whole day would have gone a Hell of a lot smoother, however, if Frank wasn't completely cursed and always seemed to run into the people who wanted his head on a spike. The main reason for his short temper that day was Gerard; Frank had his stupid face in his head all day, and the guilt of leaving him with a bloody nose was eating away at him and making him snappy and agitated. The fact that Frank had only known the guy two days and he was already fogging his brain was pissing him off, too.

Somehow managing to stay out of trouble with his teachers, Frank had an hour at lunch to himself, so he decided to use the time to sit in the Library again and read some of the comics Mrs. Foster had ordered in for him.

Frank sat in his usual bean bag chair, his knees pulled up and a comic in his lap, allowing his hair to fall freely and form a barricade from the world over his face. Of course, he wasn't expecting anybody to come in during lunch, so when a familiar voice snapped him out of his trance, Frank jumped.

"I've read that one," Gerard said, his voice seeming uncomfortably near to Frank. He glanced up, watching Gerard as he sat opposite Frank, legs crossed loosely.

"Great," Frank replied, sarcasm seeping through his words. He tried to direct his attention back to the comic he was holding, but it was a challenge when he could feel Gerard's eyes watching him intently. He sighed, dropping the comic into his lap and looking up. Lacing his fingers together, he tried to sound casual when he said, "Why did you bail on me yesterday?"

Gerard hesitated, unsure of what to say to Frank. After a few seconds, he settled with just saying, "I didn't bail."

Frank laughed, but there was no humour in it. He was used to being blown off and shoved to the side like he wasn't important enough to worry about, and Gerard was doing exactly that, in Frank's eyes, anyway. "Sure you didn't." He rolled his eyes.

"I'm telling the truth," Gerard insisted, more to save his own ass, probably, but then again that was just what Frank thought. When Frank remained silent, however, Gerard didn't hesitate to explain. "You know this morning, when you saw me with a bloody nose?"

Frank, although feeling a pang of guilt flash quickly at the way he'd seen Gerard, played it off casual, mumbling an incoherent reply.

"True, Jenkins is an asshole. But I deserved it." He smirked slightly, liking the way Frank looked almost worried about what Gerard had done to piss Jenkins off.

And he was right. Frank was not only paranoid that Gerard had got _himself_ in deep shit, but now that Gerard was more or less associated with him, he knew that they were both going to have to watch their asses for a while. "Fuck, man, do I even want to know what you did?"

"Let's just say I paid him a visit after soccer practice yesterday and did a little flirting of my own." He paused, before adding, "inspired of course by your little scene in the hallway yesterday," Gerard smirked, and Frank groaned, unsure of whether to hi-five the pixie-faced loser or fear for his life.

"Fucking _great_ ," Frank eventually sighed, though he couldn't dismiss the smirk that found its way onto his lips when Gerard chuckled.

A few seconds of silence passed before Gerard shifted slightly, lacing his fingers together in his lap and mumbling the words, "I'm sorry."

Frank raised an eyebrow, his smirk momentarily disappearing as he studied Gerard's expression. "What are you sorry about?"

Gerard laughed, shrugging awkwardly and seeming to relax a bit. "I probably should have warned you beforehand that I was gonna take a rain check."

"Fuck yes you should have," Frank exclaimed. "I could have been quite the helper, you ass. And I never got my coffee."

The awkward atmosphere and the seemingly temporary grudge that Frank had over Gerard seemed to have shattered within moments, and the two were conversing as though they had known each other for years. Eventually, they had to get to lessons again, and arranged to meet - this time for _sure -_ at the back of the school and as far away from Jenkins and his clan as possible.

The day seemed to drag for both Gerard and Frank, and they magically managed to stay clear of assholes and teachers until the end of the day. Frank, however, had to physically restrain himself from bitch-slapping a few people on his way to lessons. As soon as the final bell sounded, Frank felt a weight lift from his eyelids and he was wide awake with the sudden realization that Gerard would be waiting round the back of the school building for him. Eagerly, Frank made his way out of the classroom door, managing to be one of the first teens out of the room and practically jogged round the corner of the hallway, waiting for a good few minutes to be sure that nobody was following him.

Again, Frank was slightly let down with the fact that Gerard was late. He had been waiting at the back of the school building for almost forty minutes before he decided to go wondering back through the doors and search as many classrooms as he could be fucked to do. Being the middle of November, winter was closing in on New Jersey, and it was either that, or Frank was seriously going to be turning blue in the cold.

Yet, as Frank rounded the corner into the Science corridor, regret seemed to fall upon him when he caught a glimpse of none other than Jenkins leaving detention. The feeling of panic rushing through Frank made him hesitate, his eyes glancing to the boys' toilets before he made a bee-line towards them, being sure to close the door as quietly as possible to reduce the chances of Jenkins following.

After slumping against the door of a closed cubicle for a few minutes, the frustration overwhelming, Frank sighed, banging his head painfully on the plastic door and muttering the words, "Fuck you, Gerard."

Stunned, Frank jumped and thumped his head once more - this time accidentally - on the door at the words that seemed to echo back at him. "Fuck you too, you ass," was the reply, and Frank laughed, kicking his foot backwards into the cubicle.

"What the fuck have you been doing in here for almost an hour?" Frank questioned, awkwardly staring down at the floor as he conversed with the pixie-faced idiot behind the thin cubicle walls.

"I was _trying_ to hide from that Jenkins wannabe. The little shit -  _Danny -_  or whatever the fuck his name is cornered me and fucking ripped my sketchbook up when Jenkins was in detention. The little fucking ass-wipe better not be out there."

"Well, I haven't seen him-," Frank started to say, but was shocked when he felt himself falling backwards as Gerard turned the latch on the cubicle door he was leaning on and opened it, Frank instinctively reaching out for the nearest thing to grab onto. As it just so happens, the nearest thing to him was Gerard, and so he found himself latching onto pixie-face's shoulders, almost dragging him down, too.

"Shit," Gerard gasped, eyes wide as he reached out, too, to grab Frank at the waist and stop him from falling. "You alright, man?" He asked the shorter boy, steadying him before letting go and re-adjusting his denim jacket that Frank had pulled from his shoulders in his sudden panic.

Flustered and slightly confused as to why, Frank muttered the reply, "y-yeah, I'm good," and shrugged slightly, before glancing sneakily sideways into the mirror and cursing to himself when he noticed the pinkness in his usually pasty-white cheeks.

Gerard nodded, seemingly unaware of Frank's sudden dilemma, and picked his bag up off the floor, slinging it over his shoulder and adjusting it. "I guess we have around an hour until the coffee shop a few blocks down shuts, you still up for it?" He asked, smiling slightly when Frank nodded furiously, licking his lips.

"Fuck yes; I've been gagging for a good energy boost all fucking day!"

"Oh, you were _gagging_ , were you?" Gerard winked, a smirk gracing his features as the smaller boy scowled, making his way to the door.

"You're such a dick," Frank sighed, pausing as he turned to face Gerard again. "I like that," he smirked.

Gerard chuckled, following Frank out the door and into the corridor, both simultaneously freezing when they came face-to-face with a very amused-looking Jenkins.

"Can't we catch a fucking break?!" Frank snarled in frustration, throwing his arms into the air.

Gerard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger briefly. "What the fuck do you want, now?"

Waiting for a reply, Gerard was distracted when he saw Frank beginning to struggle out the corner of his eye and turned around to see Danny had grabbed Frank by the arms and was twisting them in what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable way. Before Gerard could react, however, he found himself in the same situation as the smaller boy when he, too, was approached from behind and restrained.

"This isn't some fucking movie, you know!" Gerard yelled, clearly sick of the constant drama he found himself in and even more so now that he was hanging around with Frank.

Jenkins laughed, about to reply but only to be silenced by the distant sound of chatting down the other end of the corridor. "Fuck," he sighed, signalling with his arms for the other two guys to follow him. "Leave them, let's go!" He yelled.

Both Gerard and Frank were dropped and almost knocked over as the two pushed past them and began running behind Jenkins in the direction of the main exit, and it took merely a matter of seconds for Gerard to nauseously realize that he was now the only one in the corridor, and Frank was angrily rounding the corner and following Jenkins' tracks in a wave of pure anger and most likely, revenge.


	4. Catch me if you can.

"You're fucking dead, bitch! I'm gonna tear your fucking arms off!" Frank snarled, seething and shaking as he raced around the corridors, managing to tail Jenkins, Danny, and whoever else the third twat was.

"I just want my fucking coffee!" Gerard whined breathlessly, his legs moving as fast as they could to catch up with Frank but to no avail. "Frank, stop!"

In his blaze of anger, Frank couldn't hear a word that Gerard was saying. The only noise surrounding him was the deafening blood pumping furiously in his ears, and his own breathing which was quickly becoming ragged and strained, but he was in autopilot and there was nothing he could do to change his own mind. If Gerard hadn't miraculously managed to get close enough to tackle Frank as he rounded a particularly sharp corner, Frank's body may have gone into over-drive and exploded before they'd even made it past the student exit.

They both landed with a huge _thud_  on the concrete floor, Gerard taking most of the impact as he dragged Frank down, and Frank yelling and flailing. It took Gerard's entire body-strength to be able to pin him down successfully onto the floor, holding the enraged boy's arms up above his head and managing to keep his legs under control when they began to kick, and Frank screamed to be let go so that he could "peel them like fucking potatoes."

Gerard didn't give up. He wasn't that much taller than Frank, but he was just that bit stronger than him to be able to keep him from doing something he'd no doubt regret. Frank huffed, squirmed, even _growled,_  until eventually he tired himself out and his body relaxed unwillingly, sinking into a mass of bitterness and irritability underneath Gerard. Gerard chuckled, still very out of breath from how fast he had to run to keep up with Frank. 

"Can you get off me now?" Frank asked after a few seconds of silence, arching a brow and beginning to squirm under Gerard's weight again. Gerard remained still, eyes grilling him from above. Frank sighed. "I promise I won't go after that dick-hole if you let go of me." His voice was thick with sarcasm and Gerard had his doubts when he rolled his eyes, but decided to trust his new friend and obliged. "Thanks," he grumbled as he stood up, brushing his hands over his shirt to straighten out the creases and then huffing loudly, partly from frustration, but also from exhaustion of going into overdrive two minutes previously. "I need to work on my anger."

Gerard chuckled again, this time getting a small laugh out of Frank, too, and then he grabbed Frank's arm wordlessly and began to tug him towards the exit, licking his lips while he thought about only one thing. "We're getting that Goddamn coffee."

By the time that Gerard and Frank actually arrived at the coffee shop, it was ten minutes until closing, so they ordered their coffees to go and decided to walk with them. At the time, they both thought it was a good idea, but quickly changed their minds when the weather took a bad turn and large storm clouds began to form over their heads, casting shadows on the sidewalk. Gerard shivered, pulling his thin, denim jacket even further around his torso, and Frank held his to-go coffee cup to his chest, savoring the limited warmth while he had it.

"If that cup gets any closer to you, you're going to be wearing the coffee," Gerard laughed, amused. He nudged Frank in the side with his elbow.  

"Yeah, well. At least I'll be warm." Frank frowned and watched his hands as they began to show tints of purple and blue. "Lets go back to my place, I have heating and blankets." It was more of a statement than a suggestion, but Gerard nodded his head, smiling at him and following his lead. He forgot to mention that he already knew where Frank lived from the pizza delivery two nights before.

Frank pulled his house key out of his back pocket as they walked up the driveway, fumbling as his hands quivered from the cold. After much concentration, he managed to get the key in the door and unlock it, allowing Gerard to step in first and Frank following suit.

"So, do you live by yourself?" Gerard asked as he peered around the house, listening out for any signs of life. 

Frank grimaced, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle. "Haven't you heard? It's all everybody's talking about at school."

Gerard's forehead creased, his eyebrow raising up in question. He crossed his arms. "Heard what, exactly?"

"That my parents stole three-hundred and eighty-three million dollars, told everybody they won the lottery, fled the country without me, and then I fucked the pizza guy." Frank crossed his arms, too, and jutted out his hip. "Really, Gerard, everybody is talking about it." A smirk appeared on the corner of Frank's mouth, and his nonchalant attitude radiated. Gerard spluttered on his coffee.

"I think I'd remember you fucking me, Frank. Honestly, what do you take me for?" He puffed as he wiped the coffee from his chin with the back of his hand.

"Is that the only part that you find hard to believe? What do _you_ take me for?" Frank retorted, feigning hurt. The two of them stared at each other, waiting for one another to break until Frank finally began to laugh. "Okay, it's true that they left the country. By some miracle, they won the lottery and apparently couldn't wait for me to get home from school before they ran away on vacation."

Gerard sucked in air, pressing his lips into a thin line before replying. "How long? I mean, until they come back?"

"Like I fucking know. All they left me was a note and $500. I just hope it lasts until they get back." Frank laughed, his words sounding oddly solemn, and then he remembered. "Shit! I don't have any food in the house."

"Really? Nothing edible at all?" Gerard scoffed. "I find that hard to believe. Where's the kitchen?"

Frank stepped to the side, pointing him in the correct direction and then followed after him down the hall and into his small, old-fashioned kitchen. The two of them placed their coffees onto the wooden dining table, and Frank sat down in one of the chairs, propping his head up on his hand with his elbow resting on the table. He watched in silence while pixie boy began to open every cupboard in the kitchen, pull the somewhat edible items out and then shove the rest back in. Eventually, he stopped and sat cross-legged in front of the array of foodstuffs that he'd laid out on the floor, in the order of most to least edible. 

"Okay, so we've got a bag of tortilla chips, half a jar of peanut butter, some expired crackers, a tube of tomato puree, and a loaf of stale bread." Gerard huffed out a deep breath, and then looked up at an amused Frank. "We could dip the tortilla chips into the tomato puree," he suggested, grinning at his out-of-this-world idea. 

"You know, when I was a kid I used to eat peanut butter straight from the jar," Frank noted, swapping the hand that was under his chin when his arm got tired. 

Gerard slapped his knees with his hands and then stood up, grabbing the peanut butter, the bag of chips, and the tomato puree afterwards. "It's settled! We'll have chips and dip for dinner, and then peanut butter for dessert. I'm a genius."

Frank scowled. "The peanut butter was my idea, smartass."

"Ah, but who was the smartass who _found_  the peanut butter?" Gerard began to walk past Frank towards the living room, and he nudged him in the side with his elbow as he did so. "Genius," he repeated.

Scoffing, but fighting the grin he had on his face, Frank stood to grab two spoons out of the cutlery draw, and then picked up their coffees before he made his way to the living room where Gerard was settling himself on the sofa. He had a tortilla chip in his hand with the tomato puree in his other hand, and as he squeezed a small amount onto the chip and then put the entire thing into his mouth, the concentration on his face was too genuine not to laugh. 

In that moment something began to come over Frank, and when Gerard looked up and caught him staring, the sensation of butterflies attacked his stomach and he felt like punching himself in the gut. Frank quickly dismissed the feeling and threw one of the spoons that he had hold of at Gerard. 

"What was that for?!" Gerard demanded. He dropped the bag of chips from his lap when he flinched, and his hand shot up to protect his face. "Fucker, you made me spill the chips."

Frank shrugged, and then shook his head as he began to laugh. "My floor is clean, no biggie." He walked towards the sofa that Gerard was sulking on and sat down next to him, nudging him in the arm playfully and then leaning to put the coffees onto the table in front of them and pick up the bag and the spilled chips. "You know, you're like, the only person in the entire school who I don't want to kick a new ass-hole?" Frank threw a chip at Gerard's face but his reflexes kicked in this time and he caught it.

"Don't get all soppy with me, Iero. I'm warning you," he mocked, pointing the chip at Frank, and then proceeding to eat it. Gerard munched loudly on it while Frank slowly began to create an inward dilemma for himself, unbeknownst to pixie-boy. He dismissed it, and decided he'd rather deal with the foreign thoughts and feelings later on.

The night ended with an entire bag of tortilla chips and a tube of tomato puree devoured, and half a tub of peanut butter left over. Gerard said goodbye to Frank as he left and saw himself out while Frank sprinted up the staircase towards the bathroom to take a piss. He had held it for a dangerously long time. 

After he wandered downstairs to make sure that all of the doors were locked and turn the heating up to high, he grabbed a blanket from the back of the sofa and headed back upstairs to his bedroom. Frank perched himself in the center of his bed with his beloved notebook and a pen, and thought about the events of the day. He put pen to paper.

_Your cries mean nothing, I'll take my time. I can't leave you breathing, oh, the stories you'd tell. Maybe you'll learn when the dirt fills your lungs. Maybe you'll learn that I'm your nightmare. I'm the shape in the dark, and I am your ending._

_Thoughts of murder dance in my head. You're fucking dead, bitch._


End file.
